


Child's Play

by DterminD



Series: The Crystal Collection [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Adorkable, Affection, Ambiguous Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Canon Compliant, Cooking, Culinarian Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Feels, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), POV Third Person, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers, Romantic Angst, Sandwiches, Secret Crush, Unnamed Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:40:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25124056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DterminD/pseuds/DterminD
Summary: Child's Playis a short story focusing on a quiet moment immediately prior to the events of the Shadowbringers main story quest “The Wheel Turns.”The Pendants’ Manager of Suites has always been a consummate professional when it comes to the hospitality business. After all, no other job can afford him the luxury of spying on every citizen of the Crystariumandplausible deniability at the same time. And when an important, unexpected guest arrives at the Pendants, seeking a quiet place for a little privacy, he can’t help the urge to put his expert skills to the test — even if getting caught could clip his wings forever.
Relationships: Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Series: The Crystal Collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1819948
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	Child's Play

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILER WARNING: _Child's Play_ contains spoilers for the _Shadowbringers_ expansion. Please complete the main story quest "The Wheel Turns" before reading. The true identity of the Crystal Exarch is not revealed.
> 
> This piece was my first attempt at writing the Crystal Exarch as a character, chosen as practice in order to convince myself that I could write proper WOLExarch stories. I liked it enough to keep going, but I’ll let my readers be the judge of whether I succeeded! As a result, Raphail is an extremely minor background character here, to the point where he isn’t even named. This is a rare opportunity for my work to appeal to readers looking for self-insert or general WOL stories, since I don’t usually write with that intent.

_Crash_.

The high-pitched shatter of glass was not what the manager of suites expected to hear in the distance, from the quiet, peaceful sanctum of one of his private rooms. Then again, today had already been a day for surprises.

His gaze traveled upward and across the raised, expansive ceiling to the Pendants’ second floor balcony — the unmistakable source of the sound. After so many years in service to sinners, both travelers and victims of the Flood, he had developed quite the ear for trouble, if he did say so himself.

And he most certainly _did_.

He paused for a moment, attuning his talent for eavesdropping to the room upstairs. The esteemed sinner inside had made himself _quite_ clear regarding his need for absolute privacy, and it would be _unprofessional_ to intervene after agreeing to that request — and that was the problem. Turning a blind ear to various indiscretions _was_ his duty as a manager of suites, but with such a high-profile tenant in his care, _crashes_ might amount to naught… or serve as the first sign of an assassination attempt.

What was more — if anything _untoward_ happened to the man, there would be hell to pay, and not only from the locals. Though the Warrior of Darkness had already left on business for the day, the manager of suites had yet to forget the look in his eyes the last time one of his friends had come to harm; better to be fired a dozen times over than to face him in that state.

Silence met his careful study, and after several moments of it, he sighed, relaxing his posture with a nonchalant shrug. It must’ve been an accident — nothing to worry about, nothing at all. Certainly nothing that warranted the dereliction of his unspoken duties as a manager of suites.

 _Crash_.

It was louder the second time. Not glass, but metal — _bouncing_ off of tile, from the echo. And water, many pints of it, spilling forth from somewhere unknown. That wasn’t good at all.

_Wicked white. Maybe I should take a look. Just to be sure. I’m the damned manager of suites, after all. It’s my job._

Fortunately, the check-in desk was quiet in the middle of the afternoon. It took only a moment to clear the surface of important documents and receipts before placing the usual back-in-a-bell break sign he used for lunch purposes in the center. Nobody ever noticed it, of course, but it made him feel better about ignoring them until he’d finished eating.

Thus excused, he made his cautious way up the winding staircase, sweat starting to coat his palms. He was _overreacting_. There _had_ to be a reasonable explanation for the racket. This was the intrusion of a… concerned citizen, inquiring as to the nature of his esteemed guest’s woes.

Yes. That was it.

He arrived at the door of the offending room in time to overhear what sounded like a tired, muttered oath in a familiar voice, followed by an assortment of glass-on-tile clinks and clatters. Indecorous language aside, that was enough to ease his troubled mind. As long as the sinner inside was still moving and breathing, the manager of suites had nothing to fear from the Warrior of Darkness when he returned, at least.

Still… what _was_ he _doing_ in there?!

Mountains of gil in imagined repair fees began to pile up in his mind, despite his absolute certainty that the guest inside would never fail to take responsibility for any damages incurred. Though it was most unbecoming of someone in his position, the manager of suites had to admit to himself that curiosity was beginning to overcome his initial concern.

He _had_ to see the truth for himself.

Screwing up every onze of courage he possessed, he raised his knuckles aloft — and froze in place. Despite his guest’s strict demand for privacy, it seemed that he had left the door ever so slightly ajar in his haste to enter.

Perhaps there was no need to _inquire_ after all. Just a peek, then — and afterwards, he would go back to his desk, put away his sign, and do his _job_.

Emboldened by this thought, the manager of suites gave up on _listening_ with every fiber of his being, and focused on _looking_ instead. The crack in the door was not wide enough to permit entry, but careless fumbling would betray his presence at a moment’s notice. It was fortunate, then, that he had _years_ of experience in the art of undetected observation under his belt, courtesy of the many fine ladies of the Crystarium.

Today, he would use them for something slightly more noble than personal pleasure; or so he told himself as he squinted into the room beyond. The sight that rewarded him was yet another surprise for the day.

As he’d predicted, the room was in shambles, radiating outward from the center of the in-room kitchenette. A large, empty cookpot rested upright against the door, tipped inward toward the room; the slightest misplaced breath on his part would send it tumbling down, cutting off his vantage point.

Water covered the rugs and floor, trickling out beneath the door and dampening the toes of his boots. Large shards of broken glass interrupted the flow in places; the manager of suites could not quite piece together their original form from memory, though he made a mental note to figure it out later for the purposes of bookkeeping.

None of that surprised him. After all, his hearing was excellent, and he now had suitable explanations for the sounds he’d heard. The guest responsible for making them, however, was another thing entirely, even knowing who he was.

He’d pulled the hood of his ornate, iconic robe down over his eyes even further than usual, masking any hope of reading his expression in detail. The errant flood soaked his feet through the gaps in his leather sandals as he paced back and forth within and through it, bending over slowly at intervals to pick up shards of broken glass in his impervious crystal palm.

His exposed mouth was frozen in a tight, thin line, and his tense posture suggested nothing so much as an impending thunderstorm; a mirror of the Warrior of Darkness on a bad day.

One thing was clear: the Crystal Exarch was _not_ having a good stay at the Pendants so far, despite the urgency with which he’d booked the room in the first place. For a mercy, he was far too occupied to notice he was being watched.

The manager of suites had anticipated the interruption of his clever subterfuge by way of some unnatural, unexpected Crystal Tower toy, but here he stood, staring, still in one piece. How could such a powerful person be so defenseless when left to his own devices? It beggared belief — unless the Warrior of Darkness was near after all. And yet there was no sign of him.

 _Heh. From the look of_ that _sinner this morning, I’d say he’s working on a three-day sleep debt. It won’t do to have him killed on a technicality before night returns to the world. I’ll say something to him when he gets back._

That aside — had anyone in Norvrandt seen the Exarch _angry_ before? He was always so calm; so in control of himself and his surroundings. It was one of the reasons that the manager of suites came to work every day in the Crystarium. Sure, protection from sin eaters, the many privileges of technology, and the boundless camaraderie were bonuses, but what mattered was knowing that someone _cared_ about Norvrandt’s future, and had the power to change things for the better.

Yet, there stood the esteemed, magnificent Crystal Exarch, keeper of the Crystarium — looking for all the world like a small child locked in the throes of a massive temper tantrum.

An overwhelming urge to giggle threatened to take hold of the manager of suites, but two things held his tongue; the knowledge that he’d be discovered, and the fact that the Exarch was starting to mutter to himself again. This time, his words were audible through the crack in the door.

“Child’s play. This _should_ be child’s play! If _he_ can do it… then why…?”

There was a desperate note in his voice that brought to mind countless drunkards at all hours of the day, sobbing over their lost loved ones, helpless and afraid. The Exarch — like the Warrior of Darkness — didn’t drink as far as the manager of suites knew, but he trusted his ears to know what he’d heard.

Without warning, the Exarch began to walk toward the door with a grim purpose, moving too quickly for the manager of suites to react. All at once, he prepared himself for disaster. He could hear it all go down in the back of his mind; the Exarch tearing into him with all the might of the strange fury he was in, ordering him out of the Pendants, of the Crystarium, of Lakeland, of the very star itself—!

The Exarch stopped at the very edge of the door and dropped his collected shards of glass into the tipped cookpot. Then he picked up the entire thing and turned back toward the kitchenette with a sigh, leaving the manager of suites in desperate need of a change of clothing and several ales.

The Exarch set the glass-laden cookpot on the counter and made his way over to the dining table as the manager of suites struggled to catch his breath. By the time his nerves were settled enough to focus again, the Exarch had taken a seat at the table, his chin lodged firmly in his hands.

“No. Again. I _must_ do it again. As many times as it takes. Surely someone at Spagyrics can use these, even if they are… not quite right. Or maybe the Mean? They work so hard for all of us. Wasting the great effort they put into getting these ingredients for me is… unforgivable.”

Only then did the manager of suites notice the pretty basket lined with cloth sitting next to the Exarch’s elbow, filled with… something he couldn’t define. At first glance, it looked like a heap of mashed popotoes layered with spinach and tomato sauce. As the Exarch muttered to himself, however, the truth became clear.

“Maybe I should ask him how _he_ does it — but no. He has catered _banquets_. He _won_ the bloody Dellemont d’Or, for Twelve’s sake! And I cannot even manage a damned _sandwich_!”

He moved faster than the manager of suites had thought him capable. In one fluid motion, he picked up the offending basket and flung it with all his might toward the door, sending hapless ingredients flying in all directions; a piece of tomato somehow managed to stick to the ceiling for a few seconds before falling to the floor in defeat.

Up close, it was easier to see the many flaws that distressed him in detail. The bread he’d used had turned to mush, and the lettuce leaves were bruised and wilted. The egg salad seemed to _bounce_ when it hit the floor. The manager of suites was no culinarian, but he’d ordered enough food for his guests to manage a sympathetic wince nonetheless.

_Guess I don’t have to wonder how all this water ended up on the floor. It’s funny, though. Don’t the master chefs force all their novices to make those for practice? Surely the Cabinet of Curiosities has a cookbook or three._

As the anger began to drain from the Exarch’s body, he slumped down further onto the table, looking as if he’d given up entirely. As the thin line of his mouth started to quiver, the manager of suites looked on in stunned silence.

“I will _not_ just sit here and do _nothing_! I may not have the strength to face him in person, but… he needs a reminder that he is not alone here. I cannot stand to see him suffer like this anymore… even if all of it _is_ my fault.”

He took a deep, unsteady breath, held it for a moment or two, and then let it out slowly in a clear attempt to pull himself back from the brink of despair. Then, little by little, the defeated slope of his shoulders straightened into something approaching confidence, and he turned his attention back to the tempest he’d left behind in the kitchenette.

“Enough. I have no time to feel sorry for myself. He will return soon, and if I take any longer to get this right…”

He shook his head, and a slow, self-deprecating smile spread to the corners of his mouth.

“…I shall lose my nerve instead. And that is no way to live up to his example.”

The manager of suites couldn’t help matching the Exarch’s infectious grin with one of his own as he watched the man rise from the table, stretch out his limbs, and press a determined, balled-up fist into the palm of his opposite hand. That, too, reminded him of the Warrior of Darkness.

“Right, then. First step: boiling more eggs. And for _seven_ minutes, not _seventeen_. For some reason, I have absolutely no sense of _time_. How _strange_.”

After a brief pause, he laughed — another surprise to add to the day’s tally, though the manager of suites failed in his attempt to decode the nature of the joke.

“Maybe I should think twice about telling him I made them myself anyway. If they turn out badly, I can blame it on the transit instead of the ingredients. He might even believe me.”

The Exarch turned toward the door one last time on his way toward the kitchenette — and paused, ever so slightly tilting his head to one side. The manager of suites felt the blood drain from his face in response.

“Did I…? How careless of me. With my luck, I suppose he is out in the hallway laughing at me now. But just in case…”

By the time the door closed, with a firm but gentle click, the manager of suites was on his way back down the stairs, whistling an errant tune in an attempt to pretend he’d been making nice with the other guests all along.

That deception was easy enough for a professional; the one that came a few bells later, when a triumphant, disheveled Exarch handed him an artfully-arranged basket of delicious sandwiches and a note to deliver posthaste to the Warrior of Darkness’ room, was harder to manage with a straight face.

 _I_ could _tell him there’s no way our Warrior of Darkness won’t figure this charade out for himself… but there’s no fun in that._

As tired as he was, though, the Warrior of Darkness might _not_ notice the Exarch’s handiwork. That last batch of sandwiches was almost good enough to fool the eyes of a _professional_. Either way, the long day of surprises had already done its work in giving the manager of suites a rare peek into the lives of his greatest heroes, and that was all the payment he required for a slightly-less-than-honest day’s work.

What was more, the Crystal Exarch that he’d grown to know and respect over the years now moved with a purpose and a fire that had once only simmered beneath the surface. The change in him, the day the Warrior of Darkness first arrived in the city, was plain to anyone with eyes — and the manager of suites trusted his own, first and foremost.

 _Wicked white. Does he_ still _think we haven’t noticed the way he looks at that sinner? Maybe they might save this world, one of these days… but darkness take me if they don’t act like a couple of_ teenagers _every damned bell between now and then!_

As if the mere suggestion of his name had summoned him, the Warrior of Darkness stepped into the room, looking twice as haggard as he had when he left. The manager of suites assumed the Exarch would intervene — but only the conspicuous lacing pattern of his sandals remained of him, betraying his impromptu hiding place behind a nearby dresser.

 _All right, all right. I’ll keep your little secret. But only because I can still see you listening to make sure I do this right._ He _could, too, if he weren’t already dead on his feet._

Giving the Warrior of Darkness his most _professional_ grin, the manager of suites beckoned him forth to his much-needed room, and to the Exarch’s precious gift waiting within — taking special care to direct his attention in the opposite direction from the Exarch’s dresser. By the time the manager of suites returned to his desk, the sandals were gone, leaving him with a quiet sense of pride in a job well done.

 _Heh. You’re_ welcome _. And I’ll bet Nutsy twenty-to-one that there’s a_ familiar _sinner standing outside the Warrior’s window right now, trying to see what he makes of those sandwiches. One of these days, he might even go in there and find out for himself._

 _But I’m not betting on_ that _anytime soon. Like as not the darkness will return to Norvrandt first._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading _Child’s Play_! This has really taken off for a practice piece that I was once very shy about letting out into the world. The more time that passes, the more I discover little things in-game that seem to hold up this headcanon explanation for the Exarch’s sandwiches. There’s even a maid NPC that complains about finding crumbs outside some of the rooms…
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, comments, questions, and/or kudos are always welcome. And, of course, I hope you’ll consider sticking around for the other stories in _The Crystal Collection_ , or some of my other works as well!
> 
> For more information on my current writing schedule and the other FFXIV stuff I spend my time on, please check out my [Carrd site](https://raphsdesk.carrd.co/) at your convenience.


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